


avaritia.

by harleyshaze (cemetery_driven)



Series: all the sinners saints [1]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: D/s, F/M, Seven Deadly Sins, jokerxharleyweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemetery_driven/pseuds/harleyshaze
Summary: Harley craves her glitter, so Mistah J takes her for a trip.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for jokerxharley week on tumblr.
> 
> day two: greed.

It's well past midnight and she's craving glitter. Glitter, shine, gold and silver. Luxurious leather against her skin, the soft fuzz of pure silk. J had cultivated a burning desire in her guts and fingertips for the shine, the sparkle, the splendour.

 

She'd always liked the pretty things, but with the pretty little pistol in her hands, the pistol he created and inlaid with veins of gold, they became _possible_.

 

Harley never has to dream of diamonds, never has to wait with an ache in her guts for something she can't afford. She asks, she tells, she receives.

 

J slams on the brakes, the rear wheels spinning out, and Harley giggles and holds the little bar above her window. The high street, the central hub of Gotham's yuppie elite. From nine to five the offices are buzzing with stock markets, mergers and acquisitions. When the sun goes down and Harley starts biting at J's ear, almost nocturnal in their sleeping patterns by this stage, the noise of the sunlit times, the upper-middle-class that revolves around the Wayne-dominated impression of Wall Street, seems like a whisper next to the screeching of tyres and shattering glass.

 

The Prada. Gucci. Versace. Eyeliners worth a hundred dollars, tiny and impractical clutch purses with a four digit price tag.

 

Harley's pretty sure not a damn dollar in Gotham is clean because from what the news says about the economy, there ain't no one who works on this makeshift Wall Street who could honestly afford a pair of two thousand dollar shoes. And yet, she's seen the silly little bitches in their demure pencil skirts and pale blouses, hair tied in a bun, trying to talk on the phone and read papers and drink coffee and walk in a pair of four-digit stilettos on rough concrete.

 

At least when J and Harley want something, they don't pretend like they don't. They don't lie about saving their spare change, starting a swear jar, guiltily dipping into the youngest kid's college trust fund because they want a new motorbike.

 

Harley's fingers stroke at a dress of red and white Swarovski crystals, the lower half made of little tendrils of tiny, shiny beads, and she can see them spinning. She can see herself, dancing pirouettes on her toes, the heavy weight flinging back and forth against her thighs. She pulls it off the mannequin, holding it by the delicate straps against her shoulders, swaying her hips back and forth. The crystals move, cool against her skin, and she feels J's hand against the small of her back.

 

“In the backseat, doll,” he whispers, and Harley grips the dress tighter. “Lay it out real nice.”

 

Harley turns her head to look at him, tiny crystal indents forming on her fingertips. “I wanna dance in it.”

 

J kisses her temple, moving further into the store, stepping carefully through the broken glass. “Only if you dance in whatever I find for you too.”

 

Harley sees the deviant glint in his eye, and bites the inside of her lip as she smirks. He slides away towards the lingerie, the women's jewelry. Harley tiptoes towards the car, broken glass and mannequin parts crunching under her feet. There's watches and perfumes and expensive suits in the open trunk, and she realizes just how long she's been toying with a single dress while J collected as much gold, glitter, and beauty as he could.

 

She sets the dress across the backseat, careful not to let it fold or catch on the seatbelt clips, and feels the rise of _want_ in her guts as she takes off in J's wake.

 

With a dress like that, she's going to have to find something just as beautiful that he can tear from her and destroy.

 


End file.
